


Intoxicated

by Vakarian



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, Dubious Consensual Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vakarian/pseuds/Vakarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She just came to have a drink, but then there was another, and another, and... well, then everything seems to always devolve after that many drinks, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intoxicated

Purgatory is packed. There is hardly enough room to squeeze in at the bar, but all it really takes is a gasp followed by, “That’s Commander Shepard” in order to get her own barstool. Of course, she initially refused and had assured she was only here to drink like every other soldier, but when the drinks bought for her started to pile up she resigned to be seated. It’s the next Ryncol that really puts her under a spell, and she wobbles on her perch slightly.

The bartender, a turian, is watching her as he’s mixing a drink. “That one do you in, Commander?” He teases, and she watches hazily as his mandibles twitch in a smirking motion.

Just as she’s about to order another, someone is pressing against her flank. “She’s alright, but I’ll take a heat sink, please.” The familiar voice is accompanied by an arm around her shoulders, clawed fingers pressing into the fabric of her civilian clothes. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Shepard turns in his grasp with an indignant look, but the motion makes her reel slightly, and she’s pressed into his chest. Her hands grasp at his clothes, his stupid infuriating turian clothes. Honestly, they’re so much trouble to remove. She’s fingering one of the clasps before she realises, and then the same hand is taken up by his. She glances up at him with her lips parted but no words come out. Garrus has one brow plate raised, seeming amused. “You in a hurry, Shep?” He asks, rubbing the back of her hand affectionately. He turns his head to take his shot.

She notices he’s standing between her legs now, and she’s surprised she hasn’t wrapped them around his waist yet. Oh, they’re still at Purgatory, right. Heat pools from her core and down to her abdomen, and she squirms a little on her stool. “No hurry.” Shepard replies. “One more shot?” She asks innocently, with a little grin that’s, albeit, lopsided at best.

Garrus chuckles, gestures at the bartender for two more. His blue eyes are easier to focus on than the rest of him, and though she’s staring with abandon, he’s staring back. Something flickers in his gaze, an inkling perhaps, and he leans in closer to her face. He’s near her ear, and his breath makes her shudder (mostly) invisibly. “You seem like you want to get out of here.” His voice is deep, drops down to that octave he must know hits her in all the right places.

The bartender gives them their shots, and Garrus hands her one, the one that presumably isn’t for turians. They clink them together and take them down at the same time. Shepard shivers and abandons the glass on the bar, licking her lips that tingle in response. The turian settled beside her is staring again, and this time he looks notably more hungry.

It’s all blurry, for the most part. She feels Garrus stand her up and support her as he hands over the credits for the drinks. The room moves as he threads her through the other clubgoers, and she can never tell if she’s taking too big of steps or too small of steps. Her partner seems to compensate as need be, taking most of her weight with ease. It’s a miracle they even make it to the elevator, not that she really recalls stepping in at all. Shepard does, however, watch him press in the keys to presumably get them to a transit car. Her stare is so heavy on him, and she leans against the wall for support at his absence.

He looks up as the elevator starts, a gentle expression on his face. He takes her elbow in his hand, places the other on her waist. “You doing alright?”

Her lips split in a grin. “Vakarian, I’m all good. Really.” His fingers move from elbow and trail down her forearm, the move makes her shudder and she inhales. Her skin feels hypersensitive with the whole inebriation thing going on. Inside the elevator shifts around as she tries to focus on Garrus, who is humming now, she can feel the deep vibration as he presses her up into him. She tries to speak, but now he’s leaning in and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick over her parted lips. A whine escapes her, head bobbing forward in an attention-seeking way.

Then the elevator chimes and they’re moving again. Her head starts to throb, thankfully, in the good kind of way. The ride in the transit car is so fuzzy, and all she really can focus on is the mesmerizing way his talons trace nonsensical circles over her thigh.

It’s when they’ve boarded the Normandy that she comes back a little. Another elevator, this one much more familiar as Garrus gives the command for her cabin. This time, he presses her against the wall, and his tongue is in her mouth. Her eyes flutter, and she moans helplessly, mind heady from drink and the growing warmth that’s spreading all over. He has two handfuls of her ass when the elevator arrives, and she can tell it’s taking every ounce of self-control he has to tear himself away so he can to get her to the bed.

Garrus opts the quickest way possible. He sweeps her up into his arms and carries her with purpose, lays her down with him immediately on top of her. The room spins.

He descends on her with his mouth, slipping his tongue past her lips and kissing her. Turians didn’t kiss by default, but together they had really worked it out, and, my, had he gotten good. She instinctually arches into him, one of his hands grasping her hip and the other gliding along her side. Shepard idly runs her calf over his thigh, squirming as his fingers grip at and squeeze her alternately. When their mouths part, Garrus pauses to lick up the trail of saliva from her bottom lip. The simple move strikes a significant chord with her, but then again, this particular turian could play her like a fucking instrument.

He stares down at her, and she feels his claws move over her stomach before slipping underneath her shirt and pushing it up over her ribs. She raises into the trailing touch of his fingers, following the movement all the way to the hem of her pants. Shepard’s mouth remains slack, watching his hand. His rumbling voice interrupts her focus, “What’s that face, Shepard?”

“Huh?”

All the sudden his advances on her lower region stops, and he comes up to run his thumb along her lips. She shudders not of her own regard immediately, parting her mouth further, more than ready to lap at those fingers with her tongue. But his hand moves on to her neck, he traces the line of her throat with a talon, and she swallows in response. She’s fucking starting to burn up, those hungry blue eyes boring into her like that. “What?” She asks breathily with a hint of impatience.

“Oh, nothing.” Garrus replies as if he’s completely harmless. His mandibles twitch mischievously. “You just look like you wanted something, is all.”

Shepard groans at his teasing but it’s immediately followed by a tiny yelp as in one swift motion her pants are getting whisked off, the turian between her legs yanking them from her ankles and tossing them unceremoniously. He returns with his hands on the expanse of either of her thighs, rubbing his thumbs against her skin. The motion is hypnotic, makes her hips stir in response. She spreads her legs wider, invitingly, and she catches the eager look on his face before resigning to lay her head back against the sheets, surrendering in to the whole drunk, spinning sensation.

Her mate, however, needs no further encouragement. He pushes aside her underwear with his talons and then smooths one finger over the length of her. Shepard whines, raising her hips slightly while moving back against the lingering touch. He briefly presses inside her, shallowly, a _very_ appreciative noise escaping him. She’s not sure what makes her moan in response first, the feeling of him teasing her, or that fucking sound he makes when he finds out just how wet she is. She hasn’t lost all composure; she smirks as he looms over her, a little curl of her pink lips. “Still think I want something?” 

Garrus sinks his finger inside her to the knuckle with a throaty chuckle, and her breath hitches in her chest. He buries his head against her neck, and she feels his tongue rove over the sensitive skin there. He exhales, and she shudders. “I’d say I know exactly what you want.” He murmurs, drawing his finger from her before pressing it forward again. A moan bubbles from her, her eyes swimming and trying to focus. _God,_ it’s good, it’s barely anything and it’s so good.

It’s so warm everywhere, albeit some parts more than others. Shepard whines as the length of his taloned finger slips out completely, missing the sensation. Thankfully, it’s only to pull her underwear completely off. He positions himself with his head in between her thighs, a drawling lick across her skin making her buck slightly. A breathy, “Garrus.”

“Yes, my dear?” A reverent answer, one that melts her. Coincidentally, he _has_ noticed because the same tongue that just left her thigh threads over her with a testing lick. The response is immediate, Shepard tensing with a sharp inhale. “Spirits, Shepard,” the growl makes her squeeze her eyes shut with a renewed flush crawling over her face, “somehow I always forget how good you taste.” She whines. On the one hand, there is that part of her mind that wants to him to shut up and fucking get on with it, but they both know a lot of teasing went a long way for her.

His subvocals thrum in his throat as he smooths the flat of his tongue over her in one motion. She jumps in his grasp, and he pins her thighs apart with his hands. Shepard barely has time to recover before he spends extra attention on her clit, and her legs start to tremble minutely. Her teeth find her bottom lip, trying not to give in to all the noises building up inside her, the ones that Garrus was always so determined to milk from her. The tremor in her body is consistent with the to and fro movements of his tongue, and he briefly nudges the tip inside her which does inevitably cause her breath to trip over a little moan. As soon as he had discovered all the ways he could drive her up a wall with only his mouth, he’d never neglected to make use of the talent. Equal parts infuriating and insanely hot.

Garrus groans against her sensitive flesh as he plunges a little deeper, making her answer with a needy kind of mewling noise, one that he continues to pluck from her again and again as he _fucks_ her with his tongue. Shepard’s chest begins to heave as her breaths come much faster, especially as the turian’s ministrations got a lot messier. His mouth is completely flush to her, and he can’t seem to get close enough still with the insistent pressing of him against her. She can feels his mandibles flare in an attempt to drive his tongue as deep into her as he possibly can, and the payoff is a brief spasm of her entire body. She half-whimpers, half-moans, attempting to close her thighs against his relentless assault, but his claws smart her, and she falls open completely for him again with a little gasp.

“ _Garrus_ ,” She pleads, her back starting to bow slightly as her hips cant with the rhythm of his tongue. She attempts to find purchase in the sheets with slim fingers, feeling like her nerves were beginning to ignite with a slow burning fire. Garrus happened to be one hell of a kindler. She murmurs his name under her breath, the next syllable stolen from her as her voice breaks into a moan when the turian draws back only to bury his mouth on her again, this time with his tongue flickering mercilessly against her clit. Her abdomen tightens threateningly, and she jerks against him, breathing open-mouthed.

Just as she’s starting to peak, just as her hips become more erratic, Garrus ceases. Her fluttering eyes glance down, her sex throbbing in response to the predatory gaze meeting her. That offensive, talented tongue swipes over his mouth, and he moves up the entire length of her body faster than she can keep up with. Her thighs are flush against his sides and his hips are heavy between them, his clothed erection pressing insistently against her. She’s about to quip about his pants still being on, but he kisses her just as the thought crosses her mind, and any and all thought dissolves into a puddle as his tongue laps against the roof of her mouth. The muffled sounds she’s making are obscene. He’s pinned her by her shoulders, his position making any movement further than wriggling difficult. 

Once her senses are effectively drowned, he releases and sits back fully. She gazes up at him dazedly, blinking. He’s smirking down at her, and she takes the moment’s pause to push herself onto her elbows. The spinning feeling returns anew, though now it’s most definitely a combination of alcohol and the thick arousal that is almost suffocating. Her breasts follow the movement of her breaths, Shepard only mindful of them because he does spend a bit of time eyeing her chest. She muses on how he must be part admiring and part plotting, and then those eyes are staring at her lips, slick with their mingled saliva.

She licks them subconsciously, and this seems to pique his interest. “You know,” he starts, and she watches his hands go to undo the lower fastenings of his clothes, “you’re always quite the sight all flustered and, ah, drooling—yes, like that…” He hooks his thumbs behind the hem, beginning to free his hips and then, finally, his hard cock. They both visibly sigh in relief, and, for Shepard, anticipation.  

“Now then,” Garrus continues, taking himself in his hand, making her heart jump a little, “flustered, drooling, mouth open, ready to suck me off..” With his free hand, he twirls his fingers in the air as if to cue her. His face is exasperating amounts of smug, mandibles tight in a smirk, nostrils flaring at her.

Lucky for him, she has no notion of letting the opportunity pass her by. She rocks forward all the way onto her knees, an enticing smile of her own flashing up at him before she trains her attention between his thighs, resting her hands on either of them while she leans forward. 

As quickly as her swagger came, it went, replaced by an unbridled desire to please him. Beneath that, a much more filthy want to have him fill her mouth up. Is she blushing? She doesn’t spend too much time thinking about how pink her face is, because Garrus is holding his cock up to her, offering the tip to her mouth. The briefest touch of hard flesh to her bottom lip makes her breathe a note heavier. Appearing to be all the incentive he needs, one hand buries in her hair, the other pressing him forward and past her lips while he uses the leverage on her head to push her down. 

She flattens her tongue against the underside with a moan and slips her eyes close, letting his fingers ease the ring of her mouth further onto his cock. Garrus echoes her with a meaningful groan, the sound making her ears burn, and a thick rush of saliva pools in her mouth as she obediently sinks down onto him. Her fingers twitch against his thighs, relishing in the feel of him guiding her back and forth. The smell and taste of him engulfs her, and it’s all she wants, to be overwhelmed with everything that is him, _Garrus_. Her pliant lips are rimmed with spit as it begins to bead down her chin in a slow dripping line as he thrusts shallowly. She can’t help her eager noises, all having to be swallowed around the thick length her lips are sealed over. It’s easy to relax for him, being drunk and all, and her head pounds as his hips come forward with a little more purpose. Her throat tightens in warning on reflex when his cock slips deeper, but, if anything, it encourages him.

“Shepard,” It comes out as a rolling growl, lingering on the vowels, starting deep in his chest and falling from his mouth in an unadulterated form of praise. The heat spreading all over is tearing up her ability to think, burning her, every thrust against the little resistance of her mouth making her ache between her own thighs. Any chance she gets, her tongue moves over his cock, flicking and lapping and curling against the shape of him.

With one final plunge against her lips, Garrus pushes her to her limit, filling her throat with as much of him as she’ll take. Her eyes water, but the pressure is gone almost immediately and his straining cock is pulled from her mouth with an obscene wet sound. A rush of air comes from her lungs, and she greedily sucks it back in, panting audibly. Without him buried in her mouth, the air hits her wet face, and she’s suddenly aware of how messy she must look. Though, considering the very apparently aroused turian in front of her, it’s one hell of a good look.

Her heartbeat roars in her ears. Can he hear that, too? She blinks, and he’s stepped off the bed; with a purposeful kind of silence he starts to tear off the rest of his clothes. In seconds he’s on her, pushing her on her back. Her head bounces against the mattress, and her vision swims. Blue eyes find hers, though, and her shirt is being lifted up, up and slipped over her arms. She exhales on a moan, his rough hands cupping her breasts with a strange tenderness, considering the desperation crackling between them. He brushes over her nipples, and her entire body shudders in response, Shepard swallowing his name up and replacing it with a groan when he dips forward to lick at the pert, pink bud with his tongue.

Garrus can’t seem to keep his hands still though, they rove over her while he pays special and individual attention to either of her breasts with his mouth. She’s shaking with want, pressing up into his grasping touches, willing him to _please_ , _God_ , just _fuck_ her. _Please, please,_ “ _Please_ , Garrus.” It’s hard to keep her thoughts separate from what leaves her lips now. Her eyes search his face, all hard alien lines, and then the bastard smiles at her. His own gaze flashes dangerously, taloned fingers on the backs of her thighs, pressing them forward. His hips come closer to her, and then her eyelids flutter when the tip of his cock slides through her wetness agonizingly slow. Again, and then another time. She keens, breath quickening.

“Please, _what_?”

The two words cut her open and leave her raw, and she stares, open-mouthed, struggling to answer. Instead, Shepard whines, looks away. His length, heavy and hard against her presses more insistently as if he’s trying to tease the words out of her. The head slides so very excruciatingly over her clit, and she throbs, again, with an excited gasp, her own body betraying her will not to beg. A will that’s so easily broken, but she’s a little, too, embarrassed—

“C’mon,” Garrus coos lowly, “just tell me, baby girl.” 

 _Oh_ , _fuck_. She groans, and her face is most definitely ablaze. She repeats to herself, in her head, that she has really got to stop telling him things that she likes. Even though the pet name had initially sounded strange on his alien tongue, now it never ceases to make her all the wetter.

Garrus Vakarian, ever the calculated tactician in literally every scenario, present activity not excluded.

She does eventually yield with a begrudging hiss of breath that devolves into a defeated sort of noise. “Please, please fuck me. I need it, Garrus, you know I do. I—” Shepard stops talking, feeling the turian ease his hips forward a fraction, the tip of him slipping inside with no resistance whatsoever. Her eyes widen, her head falls back, and she murmurs something appreciative and largely incoherent.

She hears him go, “Mm?” and looks up to see a curious, teasing look in his eyes, all like, _you mean here_? And she’s ready to snap; she can feel the furious electricity rise up in her at his blatant tormenting. Her lips curl in the beginnings of what looks like a snarl, but then it’s all but vaporized when he bucks forward, and her mouth falls open in a helpless, heated cry. Garrus’ grip tightens behind the backs of her knees, and she can feel him twitch inside her, and oh does she respond, clenching down on him desperately, like her insides are trying to keep him there. The growl he makes reverberates in the otherwise quiet room.

She is reduced to a malleable version of herself, however Garrus would desire her, she would gladly relinquish any and all control. Currently, he’s set a steady pace. Drawing his cock from her before filling her all over again. Her lips part, unable to keep her tongue behind her teeth, unashamedly letting him force moan after moan from her. Her back arches, ribs pulled taut against her skin as she struggles to remember to breathe. The pleasure comes in waves, matching the reel and thrust movement of his hips. Shepard’s thighs strain as he spreads them as far as they’ll go, the dull burn only adding to the onslaught on her nervous system.

Shepard doesn’t notice that she begins to babble in a feverish way, whining when he pulls back, gasping when he returns to her. And, oh God, he’s such a perfect fit. Nothing quite compares to that _stretch_ when he buries himself to the hilt, and she craves it, and anymore it’s a sure fire way to completely unravel her from the seams. Suddenly, she’s aware that she has, in fact, been speaking, because Garrus is _laughing_ and _moaning_. “Oh, Shepard,” _oh_ , _shit_ , “so talkative..” He trails off and makes it a point to harden his movements, and they’re sharper. Her moans crest into a hot sobbing noise for a beat, feeling him thrust and grind against her with all intentions to get _deeper_. His rough skin chafes the back of her thighs, but she just—doesn’t care. Her head lolls, and she writhes beneath him as if in some effort to escape the building and nearly consuming pleasure.

The tempo shifts from precise to something more erratic, Garrus bearing forward and driving into her like it’s all he knows, and it’s all Shepard can do to hold on. He’s close enough that her arms shoot forward and wrap around his neck, gliding her fingers over the exposed skin of his neck, digging into that spot just under his crest that makes him— _ah_ , practically, _snarl_. His hands move from her thighs to her waist, assisting his hips in impaling her onto his cock. Her moans are broken and frantic, blunt nails digging against his flesh. And she’s chanting his name, and _ohplease_ , _please_ , _please._ Before she can even stop her self, she’s begging, “Garrus, Garrus, I want it—in my mouth, please.”

Shepard feels him stutter in his movements, a strangled, aroused noise tearing from him. The satisfaction that cuts through her mixes with everything, and she’s smiling, watching as he sits up. Her face, though, contorts when he almost languidly rolls up into her again, an all-encompassing surprised and indignant moan escaping her. She stares at him, distantly wondering what game he’s playing now. 

A purr. “I’m going to need my commanding officer to come first, only seems right.” Garrus punctuates the statement with a hard thrust that forces the air from her lungs in a choked whine.

Then, he doesn’t stop. He drives into her over and over until she starts to spasm, unable to focus her eyes on anything. Shepard can hear his voice, deep, aggressive, like he’s egging her on, but she just can’t make any sense of it. It’s hot though, so hot. She attempts to grab at him, but he’s just out of reach and does nothing to assist in the endeavor, not pausing the mantra of his hips for even a second. The feeling works up her, starting at her core, tightening, tighter. Shepard starts to gasp, trying to tell him something, anything, but the words freeze up in her throat, and she stiffens. Then, her orgasm cracks through her, and the only thing she can manage is his name accompanied by a full-body shudder that she can feel all the way to the tips of her fingers.

Garrus answers with a snarl, very nearly ripping himself from inside her with all the universe’s reluctance. In a sloppy but well-aimed move he yanks her forward, taking advantage of her open-mouthed state and stuffing it full of his throbbing cock. Her mind blanks, and she’s reduced to all feeling. It’s so warm, and she swallows with an embarrassingly grateful moan, echoed by a satisfied grunt as the turian in her mouth empties himself on her tongue. With a final twitch, he sits back, and Shepard finally opens her eyes to catch a thread of his come fall between them. Deliberately, she licks her lips, watching him. He’s watching her, too. His own larger chest heaves, mandibles flaring with every breath. 

“Spirits.” Garrus finally chuckles. “Shepard.”

She hums questioningly, coming forward to crawl towards him, her body pulsing in a spent, satisfied way. Her head buzzes comfortably. “Something funny?” A nimble finger traces over his thigh.

He takes up her blushing face in his hands, smirking. “No, that was just, really good.”

“Seconded.” She agrees, smiling back. She kisses him on the mouth warmly, sated and feeling extremely cuddly and not much else other than exhausted.

“You probably had a little too much to drink, Commander.” Garrus ‘helpfully’ mentions as they settle back against the pillows together. She can feel his lingering grin as she rests her cheek against him, his skin still hot from their coupling.

Her eyes roll. “Are you really going to blame all that amazing sex on alcohol?”

“I mean…” He lets the words hang, dangling them in front of her, waiting for her to bite.

Shepard harmlessly swats his carapace. “Shut up.”

Garrus nuzzles her. “Don’t worry, I know at least sixty percent of that was all you.”

She bristles in his arms. “Hey! You better fucking bump that up to at least _eighty_ , Vakarian.” Her eyes sharpen to daggers.

The turian laughs, subvocals gravelly, making her despair at the resulting throb between her thighs. “Okay, okay, eighty.” Garrus concedes.

Satisfied, she nestles against him, and doesn’t remember falling asleep whatsoever.


End file.
